Goldie and Rachael Ray! Memoirs of a Frazzled Mama!

Okay, this morning I've gotten off to a slow start. I'm just bummed. Sluggish, depressed, in a deep blue funk. If Charlie were a romantic, he might say something like "Then your mood matches your eyes!" But most days he's not, (sigh) so here I am, mourning the loss of Goldie the Goldfish, (who has just made her journey to the great beyond), and wishing for some kind of pick me up. I need the influence of something . . . perky. Bouncy and perky. I need a little Rachael Ray! My personal fix, every morning at ten! She makes it all better. She really does. Maybe we could be pals. Do you think she'd approve me as a friend on Facebook? : )

Sure.

Anyway, let me tell you how my day has gone so far. . Wait a minute, would that be considered whining? Fine, I'll tell you about my Monday last week. How's that? : )

Okay, so I woke up, late of course, remembered that my husband was taking the car because his truck had broken down. . got the kids off to school, mostly on time, by some miracle of fate, and then checked the fridge for 1 % milk to put on my Cheerios. I prefer Shredded wheat, but naturally the kids had put the box back in the cupboard empty, so that wasn't happening. (Did they forget where the trash can makes it's residence?) The minute I opened the fridge, I knew something was . . awry. The uncooked beef roast that our next door neighbor had brought over the night before, (her freezer was on the blink), that she had wrapped in plastic, was still sitting on the top rack/shelf, without the support of a plate or a bowl. I made a face, and exhaled audibly, dismayed. Meat juice, roast drippings. . (blood) had dripped/leaked over everything underneath of it. Two shelves of left overs and condiments. . . I don't know if you've ever washed up a batch of mustard and salad dressing bottles in the kitchen sink, but I didn't think it was necessary. Certainly not in my contract. . . Sigh.

Later, a few minutes after tossing in a load of laundry, I heard something that sounded like the virtual rushing of a river somewhere close to the laundry room. I ran down to check it out and discovered that water was gushing, unchecked, out of an open pipe in our downstairs, unfinished, 'project' bathroom. Momentarily stunned, shocked and horrified, I did what any experienced Mama would do. I squealed, and turned off the main water source to the entire house. Sigh again. Try washing your hands and flushing the toilet without it. : ) Uh-huh, yeah. Anyway, after frantically disclosing the symptoms to Charlie over the phone, he decided that it had to be blockage in the pipes there by the washer, so I turned the washer off. Now we had water again, but no washer, and no car to go to the laundromat. These were his words of comfort. "Buck up, Miss Pouty Face! We'll figure it out. . Suck it up! You could get a ride from a neighbor. . . (my favorite) Get it together! Hop up off of that tush of yours, and make it happen! Gotta go. Bye Honey!" Oh brother. Apparently he has forgotten his lines, the ones that we rehearsed over and over.

#1 - "I'm sorry, I hope you feel better. . . " (complete with a bear hug of course)

and . . .

# 2 - "It's okay, everything will be all right!" (with a tilted smile)

Sigh.

You know, you try to train your man, to get him to understand. . . but some days they just don't get it. Some days, they're just. . . guys.

So you have a good cry, curled up on the couch with Rachael Ray, and then things right themselves, the next day things are better, and you continue on your merry way. . .

Aagh! Gotta get Jeffy from preschool! Gonna be late! Coat, coat! Keys. . keys! Hair. . hair! Hat, Hat!

Chuckle. : )

And such is the life of a Mama. I guess some days are better than others. . .